


By the Dread Wolf!

by 1000001nights



Series: Tales From Thedas [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Skyhold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 11:44:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4605450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1000001nights/pseuds/1000001nights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elves in Skyhold! Merrill and Solas’s friendly conversation is broken up by the arrival of Fenris, but even he finds that the sagely apostate has some wisdom to offer him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	By the Dread Wolf!

“The Dalish forget too easily what they ought to remember. Things that should never have been forgotten have been lost. Yet you say you nearly restored an eluvian? Fascinating.”

“It was nothing, really,” Merrill said.

The two elves sat across from each other, torches burning bright on the walls, illuminating the frescos depicting the trials and victories of the Inquisitor. Solas sat in the armchair, where he was often found alone, with a drink, a book, or both. This night, however, he had the strange company of another elf - a rare enough sight in Skyhold as it was - but this particular elf turned heads wherever she went. Her hair was blacker than the night, and twisted into dreadlocks, which hung like vines from where she had tied them behind her head. The Dalish  _vallaslin_  swooped gently across her soft face, still almost that of a child, but with dark eyes that spoke of wisdom beyond the years of even her elders. She smiled with an almost empty grin, and blinked often, like a cat.  
  
Solas sat across from her, legs crossed, a mug of something warm and steaming in his hands, fully at ease. Merrill looked almost entirely the opposite of him. She sat with her back stiff, arms folded across her lap, her thighs tightly together, one ankle interlocked behind the other, which tapped nervously on the stone floor.

“This eluvian,” Solas said, taking a sip of his drink; it was tea, though of his own invention, and so had a noxious fume not unlike rashvine. “Did you manage to restore it completely?”

“Not really,” Merrill said. “It was just a little… project. Whatever it took to unlock the eluvian, I didn’t have it.”

“Eluvians are old magic. Even in my journeys in the fade, I have rarely encountered a spirit who knew anything of their ancient workings. A pity.” Solas sipped his tea again, and Merrill sat in awkward silence. He had offered her some herself, but even she had turned her nose up at it. “Your clan,” Solas said, “they approved of this?”

“Oh! No. Not at all, really. My Keeper… Never mind, actually. Lovely paintings.” She nearly hiccuped, either out of nervousness, or simply out of a need for something to do. There was an aura about the other elf that made her feel… She didn’t know. It was like being in the Fade in her dreams, like conjuring magic from her very blood. Something visceral, something static and close, like a heartbeat pulsing in her soul. It wasn’t romance. She’d known  _that_ before. It was something deeper. Something that resonated through history, through time, through the magic that coursed through both of their veins. His piercing gaze made Merrill nervous, and not in the usual way.

“I thought I heard you were helping the Dalish. What happened to your clan?” Solas asked.  
  
“I try not to think about it,” Merrill replied. “I’ve been spending a lot of time on my own these days. It can be… lonely. But it is not the first time. I’m used to it, I suppose. Less to clean.”  
  
“Solitude is not appreciated enough,” Solas replied sagely. “There is much one can learn from one’s self, and from time alone in the Fade.”  
  
“I don’t like the Fade,” Merrill said lightly. “It frightens me.”  
  
“As it should,” Solas said. “There is nothing more unfamiliar than being in the raw presence of spirits, and the source of all magic. Still, I have a reverence for the place. I have listened to songs not heard by mortal ears for centuries, and spied into the most personal moments of people entirely forgotten by history.”  
  
“Mostly I just brew soup out of mushrooms,” Merrill replied.  
  
“You are from Ferelden?” Solas asked, skipping by Merrill’s remark. “And yet you found yourself in Kirkwall during the Mage Rebellion. And now you return. What a travelled life you have lived.”  
  
“I suppose,” Merrill said. “It’s all been a bit of a blur.”  
  
“Tell me,” Solas said. “The Dalish of the Free Marches. Do they believe as the elves of Ferelden, and Orlais? Your  _vallaslin_. I do not recognize it from among the ones I have seen in my journeys with the Inquisition.”  
  
“I don’t know - ” Merrill started, but a noise from the door silenced her at once.  
  


“Elves are all the same.”

  
The door to Solas’s rotunda had opened, and a shadow lingered in the doorway, just beyond the ring of light of the nearest torch. The rugged shape of Fenris slunk through the door, into the dim light. Solas remained nonplussed, but Merrill’s almond-shaped eyes widened, and she blinked quizzically.

 "I disagree,“ Solas said calmly. “You and I are nothing alike. Or Merrill and Sera, for instance.”

“I like her,” Merrill said absently. “She makes lovely cookies.” The other two elves gave Merrill a look of incredulity, but she was evidently familiar with such an expression, and smiled brightly in response.

“Have you ever met a city elf?” Fenris asked, stalking into the room. He crossed his arms and leaned against the only blank space on the wall, next to the illustrations of the elves from the Arbor Wilds, huge silhouettes dwarfing his brooding form. “Called them ‘flat ear’ and told them they need to remember their past? What good is that past if they don’t understand it? Not one of them remembers anything worth remembering, anyway. With all that’s happening in the world, what use is that faith to them? to anyone?”

“For once, I agree with you,” Solas said. “Not with the sentiment. Your claim that faith is useless is of course ludicrous. It saves many in their time of need, and brings the masses together when they require support that would otherwise be unutterable. But the Dalish pretend at things they believe they know, yet how can they? So much has been lost.”

“You don’t have those marks on your face,” Fenris said. “I have my own, in a way. But you have nothing.”

“Once again, I must disagree,” Solas replied calmly. “While I do not wear the mark of a clan on my face, nor do I have tattoos granted to me through magic, I still carry my journeys within me, and they are reflected in who I am. In what I do.”

“Um… I don’t think… that’s really what he meant,” Merrill interjected.

“The two of you know one another?” Solas asked.

“We travelled together, a long time ago,” Merrill said.

“We had some disagreements,” Fenris added.

“But we got along.” Merrill smiled, and shifted. She seemed to all present to be less comfortable than before, but somehow, having Fenris in the room made her feel more at ease.

“What was the nature of these disagreements?” Solas asked.

“Blood magic,” Fenris growled.

“You practise blood magic?” Solas asked, turning his attention back to Merrill. “I was not aware. Have you ever used it to communicate with spirits?”

“Mmhm,” Merrill said brightly. “And demons. But I try not to call them that. Hurts their feelings.”

“I see,” Solas said. “Fascinating.”

“Elves,” Fenris grumbled. 

“You might be better served,” Solas said, getting to his feet and placing his mug on the writing desk in the centre of the room, “by relaxing your attitude towards your own kind." 

"I have nothing in common with you,” Fenris replied. “You said so yourself.”

“True, not on the surface. But the elven empire used to be great. At one time, it spanned all of the known world, if the histories are to be believed. And while you may not agree with their practises and beliefs, that empire runs in your blood even now. You cannot deny it.”

“And then Tevinter took it away,” Fenris said. “They took everything from me.”

“And now you fight to take it back. A noble cause, if misguided.”

“I don’t fight for  _elves_ ,” Fenris said. “I fight to free people. No one should have to live under the boot of a Tevinter.”

Solas’s face seemed to lighten. Something restrained lingered there, as he stood face-to-face with Fenris, his face snarling, his brow furrowed deeply. Yet Solas did not retaliate. He did not seem angry, in fact. His face returned to its usual calm, and he seemed rather pleased. “Freedom is the only truly honourable goal,” Solas said. “Our crusades are not so different. And neither, I think, are you and I, though our methods may vary. We would do anything for the people we wish to see freed.”

“What do you know about it?” Fenris growled, pushing off the wall.

“By the Dread Wolf!” Merrill cried, springing to her feet. “Some things never change, do they? You’re always fighting!” Cowed, Fenris rolled his eyes and leaned back against the wall. Solas went to his desk, and tidied up some of the papers there, shifting one of the shards he’d been examining. “You have impressed me, Fenris,” Solas said. “I thought you a mindless brute, but you are not. You have heart. You may not have chosen your name, but I think it suits you.”

“Na via lerno victoria,” Fenris grumbled. The words came to him almost unbidden, an automatic reaction to such a confrontation. He had not expected Solas to hear, let alone understand, but to his surprise, the elf translated.

“'Only the living know victory.’ A quaint Tevinter saying,” he said. “Not entirely true. What of the Fade? Such an adage seems short-sighted.”

“Fasta vass,” Fenris growled.

“Dirthara-ma,” Solas replied.

“Elgar'nan,” Merrill sighed, falling back into her seat.

“Did I hear shouting in elvish?”

Varric entered from the open door. Evidently, he had been writing just outside, and the argument had drawn his attention. “My, it’s been a long time. That does take me back. Hello Daisy.”

“Varric!” Merrill cried, leaping gleefully to her feet. She ran to the dwarf and wrapped him in a hug. She tried to raise him in her arms, but her lithe form was unable to lift the stocky dwarf. “Careful there,” he wheezed. “You’ll break me.”

“You’re here!” she said happily.

“So are you,” Varric replied. “Good journey from the Free Marches? Do they miss me in Kirkwall?”

“Oh I… I couldn’t go back.”

“Right. Shit. Sorry Daisy. Listen, don’t worry about it. Let me get you a drink, and I’ll tell you a story.”

“Will you tell the one about the halla and the hunter who became her friend?”

“Of course,” Varric said. “Anything you like. In fact, I think you’ll like a new one I’m working on. The Inquisitor wouldn’t like me telling it, but it can be our little secret.”

“Solas?” Merrill asked, standing with her hand on Varric’s shoulder, just outside the door. “Will you come too?”

Solas turned at his table, almost as if he hadn’t understood what had been said to him. He looked from Fenris, to Merrill, then down to the floor. “I shall join you,” he said. “But first, I would like another cup of tea.”  
  
“Whatever you like, Chuckles,” Varric said. “We’ll be waiting.”

Varric and Merrill left, Merrill skipping like a child. Solas was glad to see her happy. He let his eyes linger on Fenris for a moment. He did not seem the type to wish for such an invitation, but still, the pain of being ignored was one Solas was familiar with. “Ar lasa mala revas,” Solas said gently. “We have more in common than you think. Should you ever desire to speak at greater length, you may find me here.”

“Just go,” Fenris said.

“Hm,” Solas muttered quietly to himself. He fetched his mug, and left the elf in the room by himself. A quiet flutter above broke the silence, and the door closed. Fenris sighed. He meandered around the room aimlessly for a few minutes, looking at the artwork scrawled expertly across the walls, and examining the oddities on Solas’s desk. He picked up the shard to look at it, but found nothing of interest there. He dropped the shard on the floor, half-expecting it to break. When it didn’t, he simply found the door, and left the room.


End file.
